


The Love and Loss of Stanley Uris

by Panicattheverywhere



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, All ships are minor and not super mentioned, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, I Love Stanley Uris, I Love the Losers Club (IT), M/M, Probably ooc, Stanley Uris Lives, This fic took too long to write, anyway yeah i couldn't deal with stan being dead soooo, canon was taken out back and shot, too much honestly, uhhhh rated teen for trashmouth's trashmouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panicattheverywhere/pseuds/Panicattheverywhere
Summary: Richie Tozier didn't know what to do. He'd really tried, over his 40-odd years of life, to find some semblance of order and normalcy. As long as he didn't think about Stan, about the fact that he'd never see Stan roll his eyes at one of Richie's tasteless jokes again, he'd be fine. Which is why, when he received an email from Patricia Blum Uris, entitled "Stan Videos," he knew it was the beginning of The Great Richie Breakdown, part 775.Aka: The one in which the Losers will NOT let Staniel rest in peace thank you very much
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	The Love and Loss of Stanley Uris

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so fair warning: I have no idea if this was in character or not because, while I've watched the most recent films, I got carried away and now I don't know how close it is to the original.  
> Also, this is partially based off of @kickingklaus’s tiktok series of videos patty would send to the losers, so props to them :))  
> Hope yall enjoy!!!

Richie Tozier didn't know what to do. He'd really tried, over his 40-odd years of life, to find some semblance of order and normalcy. Of course, the demonic alien clusterfuck of a clown that fucked over his childhood- and adulthood, mind you- kind of ruined his chances, but he tried. He tried so, so hard. 

As a kid, before they all moved away, his main source of order was Stanley Uris. Now, not many other people would probably think of Stan that way. He'd be "too quiet" or "too weird," but Richie thought the world of him. Stan was Richie's best friend, and, no matter how much the former would deny it, the feeling was mutual. 

Stan was the first to figure out that Richie liked Eddie Kaspbrak, and he was quick to tell him that it was alright, and that he didn't view Richie differently. " _ You're still the same annoying guy I've always known, no matter what. You know that, right, Rich?" He'd said, a small smile on his face.  _

But then, they'd all moved away. Richie had to tear himself away from Stan the Man Uris, from Big Bill, from Eddie Spaghetti, from the Losers. And then, he didn't see them for twenty-seven whole years. And that was the ones he even saw. 

Because, in a sick twist of fate, and the universe, Stan had killed himself to avoid going back to Derry. 

Stan, who was always the first to tell Richie off for his bullshit, to lend a helping hand or a soft look, telling him, without speaking, that he was there. Stan, who had brought them all showercaps for the clubhouse, so they wouldn't get _spiders in their hair._ Stan, with his encyclopedic knowledge of birds. Stan, who was so unbelievably brave, every day of his life, walking with his yarmulke-clad head held high in fucking _Derry_ of all places. 

Stanley Uris believed that he wouldn't be brave enough to make it through another fight with It. He gave his life to ensure the others had even a  _ chance  _ at defeating It. 

So, they did. No one else died that day, or that week. The lucky seven became the Getting-By six. 

Richie was trying. He really was. He put on a brave face whenever he was asked how he was doing, and just in general. He figured he should be happy, so he was. Eddie lived with him, and they spent their days in domestic bliss, peppering each other with light kisses whenever they felt like it, and then exchanging loud banter, as they'd always done. 

Richie was fine, really. As long as he didn't think about Stan, about the fact that he'd never see Stan roll his eyes at one of Richie's tasteless jokes again, he'd be fine. 

Which is why, when he received an email from Patricia Blum Uris, entitled "Stan Videos," he knew it was the beginning of The Great Richie Breakdown, part 775. 

He and Eddie sat together on the couch with bated breath as the first video loaded on Richie's computer screen. 

The screen loaded for a few seconds before showing a man, smiling softly at the camera, with a play button. The man  _ looked  _ like Stan as an adult. He had the same… Everything, really. 

Richie swallowed and clicked the play button, making sure that the volume was on. 

The video came to life, the camera quality a little grainy, but still good enough to see and hear what was happening. "Dancing Queen" by ABBA was playing, and Stan was laughing as he sang along to someone behind the camera. The high pitched laughter of a woman came from behind the camera, and Stan's eyes sparkled when he heard it. He sang louder, making goofy movements with his arms as he did so. "Youuu can dance! Youuu can jive! Having the time of your liiife!" He sang, giggling. The woman behind the camera laughed once more, and the screen turned blank as the video ended. 

A tear rolled down Richie's face and he sniffled as he clicked on the next video. Eddie was also crying, and leaned his head on Richie's shoulder. 

The second video fired to life, this time being Stan in a kitchen, the video being taken by someone trying to be sneaky. Stan was humming to himself, the sunlight streaming through the window as he stirred a pot on the stove. He turned and saw the camera, a smile pulling on his lips. "Patty!" He screamed out, trying to sound serious but failing horribly. The same laughter from the last video came from behind the camera, as a voice replied, "Sorry, dear, I just couldn't help it!" And the video ended. 

Richie felt the hole in his chest from Stan's absence grow as he and Eddie wordlessly watched through video after video of Stanley Uris's life without them. He'd been genuinely happy, and still the same Stan they'd known. He seemed to have a particular love for 80s songs, from their childhood, and he still loved birds. 

It hurt that they'd never gotten to see him like this. So happy, so free to be who he wanted to be, without judgment. 

When all of the videos were watched, Richie broke. Tears fell, hot and heavy, as he sobbed. Eddie held him, tears falling from his face as well.

"It's not fair, Eds…" Richie sobbed. "He was my best fucking friend. Why did he have to be so fucking heroic?" He whimpered, his chest feeling like it was collapsing. 

Eddie just held him, shaking silently with his own tears. 

  


Eventually, they both calmed, feeling drained from all of the crying. Richie gasped, a gleam coming into his eye. 

"Do you think Mike would have anything on how to get Stan back?" He asked in a hushed voice, seeming hopeful. 

Eddie opened his mouth and then shut it again, looking thoughtful. "I mean… It'd be worth asking, for sure." 

  


Later, in The Losers Club group chat, Richie asked. Mike responded, “I’d have to check, but… maybe.”    
Richie couldn’t let himself hope. Because, really, if he  _ hoped  _ that he’d be able to see Stan Uris again, hold him in his arms, hear his laugh in person… If he hoped for those things, and was only met with the crushing result of never seeing him again… Richie wasn’t sure whether he could take it.    
So, like any good comedian worth their salt, he deflected. He made dumb jokes, trying to keep his mind off of Stan. And, for the most part, it worked. He made stupid jokes, allowing himself to bask in Eddie’s huff of laughter, and in his own amusement at his joked. 

  


In her own home, Beverly Marsh was struggling. She’d been trying to manage herself, with her divorce and subsequent relationship with Ben Hanscom, and trying to get her business back up. She’d been doing relatively well, until Patricia, with only good intentions, sent that email with the videos of Stan.

Stan had been there for her as a kid, offering quiet assistance without any hesitance. He didn’t judge her, even when the rest of the town screamed about how she slept around. She didn’t either, and he knew it, somehow. Stan always seemed to know the truth, always wise beyond his years.

Seeing Stan happy and  _ alive _ , as he should be, broke her. 

As Ben held her close, she sobbed, crying out about how she’d seen the future, how she should’ve stopped him, and how it was her fault. Her chest ached with guilt for one of her childhood best friends, and how she’d failed to save him. 

  


Ben Hanscom was aching. He’d always been sentimental, never afraid to let his emotions show. He probably would have gotten bullied for it, as a kid, if it weren’t for the fact that he had other,  _ easier _ , things to be bullied for.

Ben had kept that sentimentality throughout his life, and loss always hit him hard. The loss of Stanley Uris, however… That hit him in an unexpectedly profound way. 

For someone that he couldn’t even remember for twenty-something years, Stan meant a lot to Ben. Stan had been quiet, most of the time, but he was caring when he was needed, and seemed to know what to say to make things hurt less. 

One time, Ben had been crying in the clubhouse after the Bowers gang roughed him up. His face had gotten punched, his knee was bleeding, and his clothes were ripped. Stan had come down, eyes widening at Ben’s injuries. Stan had quickly gotten the first-aid kit that Eddie had insisted they install, and came next to Ben, pulling out a tissue to wipe away the blood from Ben’s knee. As he worked, he watched Ben’s expression, gauging how much pain he was in. As he did so, he started talking about a bird he’d been researching lately, and spouted out facts that clearly meant something to him. To Ben, it was just a good distraction from everything that had happened. After Ben was patched up, he’d thanked Stan. He had just shaken his head. “No, Ben, it’s nothing, really. I’m here for you, if you ever need me.” He’d said, in his quiet, levelled way, before making his way up and out of the clubhouse. 

The memory of this hurt Ben, because he hadn’t been able to do the same for Stan, when he was in his hour of need. So, instead, he was there for Bev, holding her tight as she broke over how unfair it was. 

It  _ was  _ unfair. It was unfair that the amazing woman in his arms blamed herself for Stan’s death. It was unfair that Stan had died, at all. It was unfair that they hadn’t gotten real lives, because of It. It was unfair that Mike had only  _ just  _ left Derry, after forty-two years. It was unfair that Richie had felt the need to hide who he was, for just as long. It was unfair that Eddie had married his mother. It was unfair that Bill had lived with guilt about Georgie’s death, just below the surface, for so long. It was all so, so unfair. 

So, when he got a message in the group chat that asked if it were possible to fix some of what was unfair, he felt a small flame grow in his chest. Hope.

  


Bill Denbrough was managing. He was doing  _ just fine, thank you, Mikey.  _ He was  _ fine.  _

Of course, he wasn’t really. Stan had been his best friend, first. Before the Losers Club even had the original four members, it had been him and Stan. Stan hadn’t minded his stutter, and had gotten along with Georgie. They had been friends for… basically their whole lives, until Bill moved away. So, obviously, Bill was a bit fucked over by Stan’s death.

The fact that he hadn’t gotten to see Stan as an adult messed with him. There was so much that he didn’t know, and the idea of looking over his dead friend’s FaceBook page didn’t sit well with him. So, when he got the email from Patty, he was both grateful and full of dread. 

He watched the videos, tears rolling down his cheeks silently, and he watched the images of who had once been his closest companion. He’d been happy, free, okay. And then he was gone, just like that. He rewatched the videos, ignoring the pain it caused, wanting to memorize how Stan’s face had looked, and wishing that he had gotten to see it like this, all grown up. 

He watched the videos all the way through the night, eventually mouthing the words with Stan, trying to feel connected to him. 

  


Mike Hanlon was in over his head.    
Of course, he wanted to bring Stan back. Stan had always been a calming presence, and he’d been there for him when he needed it most. Stan was genuinely just a good kid, and Mike desperately wanted to find a way to bring him back. 

The only issue was: the sheer number of books, spells, vague scribbles in margins, that he had to go through. These books had everything, from how to cure bad breath to, hopefully, how to raise the dead. 

After several days of searching, poring over tomes, he found one. A spell that didn’t require the body, or a sacrifice, or any weird sex stuff (which there was a surprising abount of.)

All he had to do was tell The Losers. He grinned, for the first time since the endeavor began. They could get him back. 

  


Eddie Kaspbrak couldn’t help it. The massive grin spread upon his face as he read Mike’s message. “Oh, my god.” He smiled, disbelieving. “RICHIE! GET IN HERE!” He shouted to the other, who was in the kitchen, finishing up washing dishes after dinner.

Richie rushed in, holding a wooden spoon like a baseball bat. “WHA- Oh. Uh, What’s goin’ on, Spagheds?” He asked, arms dropping to his sides with a small smile. 

Eddie laughed before gesturing to his phone. “Mike texted the group chat. He found something.”    
There was a clatter as the spoon fell to the floor, followed by a thump as Richie sank to his knees. “Oh… Oh my god, Eds!” He smiled, voice shaking.    
Eddie came forward and pulled Richie into a hug. “I know, Rich. We’ll be able to see him again.” 

Richie smiled, tears falling from his eyes as he settled into Eddie’s embrace.    
They’d have to book tickets to meet up with the rest of the Losers in Georgia, but at the moment, they were happy to just wallow in the bliss of knowing that Stan would be with them again soon. 

  


When Ben Hansom saw the message from Mike, he whooped. He whooped so loud that Bev, who was in the next room over, doing some paperwork for work, heard, and came into the room. “What’s up with the victory screech, Ben?” She asked curiously. 

He looked up to meet her eyes, smiling widely. “It’s Mike, he… He says that there’s a way. We can- we can get Stan back.”

Bev’s eyes filled with ears, and she sat next to him on the couch, smiling like a madwoman. “Oh. Wow, I just. Wow.”    
Ben nodded in agreement. He finally felt like it would all be okay, at least a little better.

  


Bill Denbrough called Mike. The first words that left his mouth when Mike answered were “You...You’re serious?” 

Mike nodded, face awash with joy. “Yeah. Yeah, Bill. I’m serious.” 

“Oh, thank you, Mike. Really, Th-thank you so much.” His face, filled with relief, filled the screen, and Mike smiled widely.

“Anything for Stan and the Losers.” He replied.    
Bill nodded. There was hardly anything he wouldn’t do for them.

  


Three days later, they were all meeting up at a Hilton hotel in Georgia, about half an hour from where Stan was buried. According to Mike, the spell had to do with proximity to the corpse, and you had to be just close enough, but not too close, to ensure that everything happened correctly. 

After the initial greetings and getting settled in, they all gathered in Mike’s room to do the ritual.

  


“Alright, so what we have to do,” Mike announced, consulting the book one final time before shutting it with a  _ snap.  _ “is hold hands in a circle, kind of like the blood pact when we were kids.”   
They all did so, even going so far as to join hands with who they did when they were kids. The only difference was the fact that Stan wasn’t there, so the people on either side of where he was joined hands instead. “Okay, so now that we’re doing this, think of your favorite moments with Stan, and when I say ‘Now,’ ask him to come back. Oh, yeah, also close your eyes.”    
The Losers nodded, closing their eyes and thinking of Stan. 

Richie thought of the movies he’d drag Stan to, how he didn’t act any differently when he’d found out that Richie was gay. How he’d rattle off bird facts when one of them was upset, to calm them down. How he’d offer a hug when they were alone after a bad day.    
Eddie thought of how Stan wouldn’t dismiss his concerns, if they were legitimate. He thought of how he’d always look over with a concerned look after Eddie’s mom would keep him at home for a week because he was “sick.” How Stan was a quiet presence, always there if he needed him.

Bill thought of all the days they’d had together, laughing at stupid things, talking about shithead parents. He remembered Stan smiling at Georgie, nodding as he listened to what the small child had to say. He thought of how, even when he was scared in the sewer, he’d still stuck through it for them.

Ben thought of everything Stan had done for him, from patching him up to being someone to talk to when times got rough. He was a silent pillar of stability in his life. 

Bev thought of how Stan would casually and cooly defend her whenever Richie would make a good-natured joke at her expense. She thought of how he was there for her after the Deadlights, listening with just a hint too much knowledge in his eyes. How he’d view the bruises on her arms, a silent question in his eyes.

Mike thought about Stan, as he was, quietly holding the Losers together. How he’d make random jokes that weren’t really funny to the others, but brought him joy. How he’d watch Mike, and care about what he had to say. How he’d be the voice of reason among the Losers, speaking out when they were being illogical. 

  


“Now!” Mike spoke, and then they all spoke at the same time, voices melding together.

“Please, Stan, come back to us.” “Stan the Man, please, we need you.” “Stan, we all miss you, please come back.” “Stan, for everyone who loves you, please… Come back.” “Stanley Uris, we call you home.” “Stan, the Losers love you, your wife loves you… please.” “Stan, please…”

After they’d all spoken, they were silent, hands gripping each other tightly, hearts beating fast with anticipation.

  


Stanley Uris was, honestly, utterly bewildered. Last thing he knew, he had been bleeding out, to avoid having to fail the Losers and lead to their deaths.    
But, right as he closed his eyes, feeling himself fading, he opened them again. He was standing, clothed, and in front of a hotel door. It was silent, and he did the only thing he could think of. He knocked. 

  


Richie Tozier didn’t know how to hold himself together. When Mike opened the door, to reveal Stan, alive and well, all rational thought kind of turned off, resorting instead to just… Screaming, and wailing, honestly. His thought process was a keysmash at that point. 

Aloud, he let out some sort of pitiful whimper when Stan looked in his direction, causing Stan’s face to soften. When Stan opened his mouth, spoke, just saying “Oh,” Richie involuntarily wheezed, knees giving out on him. He hit the ground with a thump, shaking. Stan Uris was there, in front of him. And he wasn’t dead, anymore, and he was  _ okay.  _

He dimly heard Bev sniffling, somewhere above him, and the others at least breathing heavily, but all he could really focus on was Stan, who was slowly approaching him, kneeling down to be face to face with Richie. Richie hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Stan wiped the tears off his cheeks before pulling him into a hug. Richie felt himself start sobbing as he grasped at Stan’s shirt. “Stan, oh my god, I just- You’re here, I-” He spluttered, shaking. 

Stan rubbed his back, whispering reassurances. The other Losers gathered around, eventually becoming a group hug. The group relished in Stan’s presence, feeling the holes in their chests be filled. Stan was just happy to be there, with the others. He wasn’t sure how he got there, but that could wait. For now, he was enjoying being in their presence and seeing them again, after 27 years of missing them. 

  


Eventually, they had all calmed, sitting on the floor and looking at each other, some in a quiet kind of shock, and the others in a silent appreciation of their existence. 

Stan broke the silence. “Listen, not that I’m not super happy to see all of you… But where am I? What happened with… It?” His eyes widened, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, you guys didn’t.. You’re not  _ dead,  _ are you?”

The others gave different reactions, ranging from horrified to sad.

Mike gave the actual explanation, though, after saying that everyone should get comfortable, as Stan deserved to know what happened. 

He told Stan everything, from meeting at the diner, Bowers’s death, Eddie getting stabbed in the shoulder by It, and Patty sending them videos of him. Mike spoke about how Richie had asked if there were a way to get Stan back, and how he’d searched until he found one. How they decided to meet up in Atlanta, and how they had met up for the ritual.

Once Mike had finished explaining, Stan looked between all of them with a mix of love and admiration. “You guys… You guys amaze me. I mean, you guys faced some dark stuff down there, and you still decided to bring me back… Thank you, so much.” 

Richie sniffed, pushing up his glasses with a fist. “Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot that we were supposed to let our best friend stay dead.” He gave a small chuckle, hugging himself.

Stan rolled his eyes with a smile. “Oh, yeah, and that’s why I was thanking you. Because I wanted you to leave me dead. Definitely, thanks for the assessment, Trashmouth.” 

The other Losers laughed, having missed Stan’s quiet sarcastic comments. 

  


Eventually, Stan and Richie were left alone as the others went to get take-out from a nearby pizza place. After they left, Richie plopped down on the hotel bed in his and Eddie’s room, closing his eyes. Stan sat awkwardly on a chair in the room, looking around. 

Richie popped an eye open. “You good, Stan the Man?” 

Stan nodded, eyes catching on something. “Wait, why are there three suitcases here? You’ve never been one to pack heavily.” 

Richie jolted up, eyes both open. “Oh! That! Uh, yeah. Eds and I… Uh, we decided to… share a room?”

Stan’s eyes widened, and a smirk twitched on his face. “Oh? And this has nothing at all to do with your potential feelings for him? I have a distinct memory of a conversation about that, is all I’m saying.” 

Richie flushes. “I, uh, we hadn’t discussed telling you, yet, but yeah… He and I are… Kind of a thing, now?” 

“Fucking  _ finally,  _ Trashmouth.” Stan smiled. “But, seriously, I’m proud of you.” 

Richie smiled, ignoring the tears in his eyes. “Thanks, Urine. Means a lot.” His voice wobbled a bit, and Stan looked to him with concern in his eyes. 

“You okay, Richie?” 

Richie nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” 

Stan cleared his throat. “You know, I gotta thank you for asking Mike, about the… You know. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be d-”

Richie cut him off. “Pfft, Stanny, it’s really no problem. You should know, by now. I’m too selfish to let you stay dead.” 

Stan shook his head, rolling his eyes. “No, Richie, out of anything you could be, you’re  _ not  _ selfish. You’re quite possibly the  _ least  _ selfish person I know, legitimately.” 

Richie huffed. “You don’t have to spare my feelings, Stan the Man. I’m good, now.”

Stan, catching the meaning behind his words, stepped towards the bed where richie sat, opening his arms. “Do you want a hug, Rich?” 

With a wordless nod, Richie launched himself into Stan’s arms. He took a shaky inhale, and Stan held him a little tighter to his chest. “Stan, I… I missed you, a lot, man.” 

Stan sniffed, a tear or two in his eyes. “Yeah, missed you too, Rich. I mean, like, I forgot about you, but I never really did, you know?”

Richie nodded. “I felt the same. Like… I’d see a bird, or somethin’, and I’d feel a little happier.” 

Stan nodded. “I mean, in college, my closest friend was an ass who made ‘your mom’ jokes. For some reason, I felt like he was an imposter, or a poor substitution. Only when I remembered, did I realize why.” 

Richie snorted with a wet laugh. “Wow, Stan, were you really that desperate for your good ol’ pal Richie?”

“Yeah, I was.” Stan replied, entirely sincerely. He had missed the Losers dearly, especially Richie, because there was  _ so much  _ of Richie, constantly, in his formative years. It had become a comfort, and an expectation, that there would be a wisecrack comment, a joke… It became a subconscious thing. 

“Oh.” Richie spoke quietly, falling silent. They remained there, Richie slowly feeling the hole in his chest being filled. Stanley Uris had missed him, was alive, was here in his arms. Stan wasn’t going away again, and they’d all remember each other. 

  


By the time the other Losers had come back and found them, Richie had fallen asleep in Stan’s arms, and Stan was watching a nature documentary on the TV, while absently running his hand through Richie’s hair. 

They all settled in with the takeout they’d brought, sitting on and around the bed. They ate the pizza while watching a movie that was on, some making quiet comments. 

When Richie awoke, he was surrounded by his favorite people, in the loving arms of his boyfriend and his best friend. Everything would be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Feel free to leave a comment, or come talk to me on [my tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/panicaattheeverywhere)   
> I love y'all, thank you for your time!! Have a good day/night/whatever! Stay hydrated! :))


End file.
